


but for longer

by fishew



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishew/pseuds/fishew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of peace, Balthier and Fran take Basch away on a much needed vacation. The plan goes somewhat awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but for longer

**Author's Note:**

> Lots and lots of handwaving re: post-game nethicite

It was miserably hot.

Summers in Archades were always hot, the temperature compounded by a level of humidity that left Basch yearning for Dalmasca's dry heat and light armor. Like most Archadians, he’d remained indoors in the hopes of escape, but hadn't fared much better in the stillness of his office. It was a relief when a messenger tapped at his door and came in with a summons from Larsa, an excuse to be anywhere else for a moment. He took Larsa’s note with a nod of thanks - and a flash of envy at the messenger’s thin cotton uniform - read through the request for his presence in Larsa’s chambers, and if his pace was a little quicker than usual as he walked through the palace to the cool gardens where Larsa preferred to work high above the city - well, surely that could be excused considering the weather.

He nodded to the guards outside the chamber doors and slowed upon entering, taking the time to remove his helmet. Another temporary relief offered by the privacy of the gardens. Across the artificial pool, he could see Larsa sitting at his desk, industrious as always.

“Your Majesty,” he said as he approached. “You called for me?”

Larsa looked up with a smile and pushed back his chair to stand. At sixteen, he was already almost as tall as Vayne once was, although his slender physique had yet to catch up with his growth spurt.

“Gabranth, thank you for coming so quickly,” he said. “And let me first apologize for what I know are going to sound like unusual orders. Matters have forced me to act swiftly.”

“Should I be worried, Your Majesty?” Basch’s voice was polite, but there was an amused gleam in his eye. “After all we’ve been through, I realize your idea of ‘unusual’ may be somewhat skewed.”

Larsa’s smile widened. It was odd, standing here making conversation - _joking_ \- with the Emperor of Archades, but that was Larsa’s way of things. Where Basch would have secured himself behind his armor, an honorbound promise to a dying brother, Larsa constantly engaged him, drawing him out until Basch understood exactly why Noah had placed all his faith in this boy. In Larsa, he could see the same intelligence and drive that had propelled Vayne, but the humanity and warmth Larsa displayed were entirely his own.

Now he straightened a sheaf of papers and handed them to Basch.

“What’s this?”

“Your orders. I’m sending you to Bhujerba.”

_Bhujerba?_

He couldn’t quite keep the confusion off his face. “Your Majesty?” His role was to follow and protect Larsa, and Larsa rarely traveled far from Archades as Emperor. Now that the boy was older and the tenuous peace he’d helped build had settled into something more substantial, Basch was no longer constantly at his side, but there had never been reason to send him as far away as Bhujerba. And … He flipped through the papers ... for _five days?_ What could possibly take so long?

“Is there something amiss?” he asked.

“In a way,” Larsa said, which was not much of an answer.

“Is there some problem with Ondore? Zargabaath may be a better option to deal with him; he has more experience.”

“It is … a problem which may be alleviated by your presence in the city,” Larsa said. “Experience will not be an issue here.”

Now it felt as though he was being deliberately obtuse. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” Basch began. “But if I do not know what I’m to -”

“That will become clear once you arrive in the city,” Larsa said quickly. “Perhaps even earlier. ‘Tis a matter that has been brought to my attention recently, and not easily solved, but I would hope that this trip will aid matters greatly.”

“I … see.” He didn’t really, but there was always the chance that Larsa’s papers would be more revealing than Larsa himself. He would have to go over them carefully later. “I will make arrangements within my Bureau then -”

“Arrangements have already been made. You will be departing tomorrow morning.”

Basch’s eyebrows shot up. “Your Majesty,” he protested, but Larsa held up a placating hand.

“Please, Gabranth. I’m aware of how strange this all sounds, but I ask that you put your trust in me and understand that I would not deliberately put you in harm’s way. If my responses have been unhelpful, it is not because I take pleasure in confusing you. It is out of necessity.” He looked at Basch with the same intense earnestness that had helped win over Basch’s ragtag group of companions years ago. Time as the Emperor had done little to dull the strength of his personality.

Basch felt a smile tug at his lips in spite of himself. “You have never given me to reason to doubt, Your Majesty,” he said. “Very well - I won’t ask any more questions. With your permission, I would go and prepare my things for the journey.”

“Yes, of course.” Larsa smiled back. There was excitement in his face now, almost impossible to discern after his years of practice in the public eye, but Basch had practiced in those years too, and recognized all the little signs. “Pack light, and go to my personal landing dock tomorrow. An airship will take you to Bhujerba. And safe travels, Gabranth.”

Basch bowed, murmuring, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and left the chambers feeling distinctly more unsettled than when he had entered.

**

Early morning saw Basch head up to Larsa’s private landing dock with a light pack slung over his shoulders. Packing had been difficult - he’d learned almost nothing from Larsa’s papers, except that Larsa had long mastered the Archadian love for unnecessary obfuscation, and possibly that he himself still needed some work in that area. Basch wouldn’t need his two claymores - probably. He wouldn’t have to meet with Ondore - probably. About the only thing the papers _was_ clear on was that he was not to take his Judge Magister armor; in fact, he was not to go to Bhujerba in any formal capacity as Gabranth, which only served to mystify him even more. In the end, he’d packed a simple longsword in case of contingencies, and dressed himself in the standard dark breeches and flared tunic of the Archadian military.

Even now it felt strange to occasionally be without his armor and helmet, walking around showing his real face, and yet, at the same time, not his _real_ face. He hoped the feeling would settle once he was out of Archades and in a city where he was to be neither Basch nor Gabranth.

The landing dock was nearly empty as he stepped out, with none of the hustle and bustle of engineers and shiphands that usually accompanied one of the Emperor’s airships. There was only one ship in the dock now, and as soon as Basch was close enough to see the shape of it shaded against the sunrise, he stopped mid step in disbelief.

 _It was improbable_ \- but there it was, sleek and gleaming, and now that the light was shifting, he could make out the ornate purple wings painted out along the back. He knew this ship, had ridden in it hundreds of times on a journey he sometimes still couldn’t believe he’d made. He couldn’t mistake it for any other.

The _Strahl_. It was, inconceivably, here. And that meant -

“Well, I didn’t think the new paint job was _that_ shocking,” a man’s voice said behind him. Low and smooth, quietly amused, just as Basch remembered. How long had it been since he’d last heard it? _About a year_ , his mind supplied him - he’d come in late last summer, and had barely stayed a day before disappearing on yet another wild journey. There hadn’t been any definitive promises on when he’d be back.

Basch turned.

Balthier smirked at him. He was as impeccably dressed as ever, and held himself with the same easy grace that Basch remembered so clearly. “Don’t look so happy to see me,” he drawled. “Maybe try to put on a better face for Fran though. You know how she gets.”

As if on cue, the door to the  _Strahl_ opened and Fran stepped down the ramp. “There is no need for you to speak for me,” she said, but when she turned to Basch, there was warmth on her face. “Basch. It has been a while.”

Basch cleared his throat. “It has,” he agreed, finally recovering from the shock of seeing his old friends again. He would never begrudge the pair their freedom in the skies, but they had been gone for so long he’d almost put them out of mind again, a pleasant memory temporarily shelved as other duties piled up on him. And appearing now, of all times - were _they_ the ones to take him to Bhujerba?

“It was unintended,” Fran explained. “We set to Balfonheim to hunt down a mark, but they proved harder to track than expected. There were several complications.”

“But you succeeded in the end?”

“Naturally,” Balthier said. “And now here we are, right on cue. The _Strahl_ will fly you to Bhujerba faster than any Archadian ship - and with a steadier hand, too.”

“I’m sure,” Basch chuckled. “But if I’m with you two, I begin to wonder if Larsa was mistaken in warning against my armor. What danger are we to tackle in Bhujerba?”

“Danger?” Balthier repeated, amused. Beside him, Fran snorted. “Of course - he didn’t tell you. My dear man, this isn’t a mission. We’ve come to take you on a vacation.”

“Just in time, by the look of it,” Fran said drily, prompting Balthier to laugh.

Basch looked between the two of them. Mere seconds ago, he’d felt happier than he had in days at the thought of sitting in the _Strahl_ again with his friends, their banter a welcome change from the endless legal documents he’d been sifting through. Now he was once again as confused as he had been when he’d left Larsa’s chambers yesterday.

“We came to Larsa with this suggestion.” Fran’s voice was gentle, as if she was taking pity on him. “We had hoped it would be sooner - but there was our own work. There was no way to return until now.”

“But he agreed when we did get in contact with him,” Balthier put in. “I suppose he could see it for himself. You’re in need of a break, old man, before they bury you under all that paperwork. When was the last time you had a proper one?”

“I’ve been busy -”

“That’s answer enough, then.”

Basch tried another route. “Why did Lord Larsa not simply tell me yesterday?”

Balthier smirked again and clapped him on the back, herding him towards the _Strahl._ “I wanted to see the look on your face for myself,” he said cheerfully. “Besides, why waste the time when you would only have protested? This is much quicker.”

He _would_ have protested, Basch knew, even to Larsa. Even with the peace between the nations, there was always too much to do, too much information passing through his Bureau, and he felt as though he would always be playing catch up to his brother’s work in some way.

“I have time for rest,” he said, but it sounded weak even to his ears. Balthier only shook his head and kept pushing him up the ramp, hand warm against his back, and Basch found himself allowing it. Larsa was one thing, but Larsa, Balthier _and_ Fran contriving to get him out of Archades seemed akin to fighting a force of nature at this point.

“Cheer up, Captain,” Balthier said. “The work will still be there when you get back.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Basch said drily and took a seat inside the ship. He made sure his pack was secured and strapped himself in. At least, he mused, he would enjoy the trip itself - Balthier was not merely bragging when he said he had a steady hand, and he’d made sure the _Strahl_ was still one of the smoothest airships in all of Ivalice. Satisfied that he was no longer putting up any more token protests, Balthier and Fran seated themselves as well and began preparations for takeoff.

“And what will happen when we land?” Basch asked.

“When we land, you’ll have the good fortune of five days accommodation in Bhujerba, the freedom to do whatever you wish, and the pleasure of our company,” Balthier said. “You’re hardly the only one who needs a break, you know. I can still smell all that fish from Balfonheim.”

“ _Balthier’s_ company,” Fran put in. “I have made my own plans.”

“Well - we’ll manage somehow,” Balthier said with a smirk that sent warmth curling through Basch’s stomach. He watched Balthier’s graceful fingers dance across the dashboard controls in one last cursory check and tried not to think about how it’d been a year. Evidently, there would be time for that, later.

He settled back in his seat to enjoy the ride.

**

Basch hadn’t come back to Bhujerba since that fateful journey years ago, but not much appeared to have changed when he stepped out of the Aerodome now. The skycity was still beautiful, perhaps even more so now without the Imperial threat looming over it, and the view along Travica Way was still breathtaking. They had arrived to the perfect early afternoon - a blue sky and soft clouds on either side of them, sunlight warming the weathered cobblestones, the rest of the city stretching up tall and proud ahead of him and the walkway crowded with excited tourists and the ubiquitous _parijanah._ Standing there listening to the chatter, the heat of the sun across his shoulders mitigated by a welcome breeze, Basch felt something lift from his shoulders, as though the wind had come and carried away a weight that he had not realized he bore.

Perhaps he _had_ needed a break from Archades.

Balthier and Fran finished settling the matter of keeping the _Strahl_ in the Aerodome and joined Basch outside. Basch could see admiring looks falling upon them as they headed through the walkway, and for good reason: it seemed as though time had only made the pair more striking, instead of wearing down their spit and polish, and now the sunlight danced over them and highlighted the cut of their figures to an almost comically dramatic degree. He couldn’t help but feel a little plain in his simple garb beside them - although this time at least, he thought with a wry twist to his lips, his clothes actually fit him, instead of the mess of hand-me-downs Vossler had gathered and practically thrown in his face so many years back in Rabanastre.

They walked sedately through Bhujerba’s streets, letting Basch take in the sights. Balthier showed himself to be an excellent guide and pointed out several landmarks along the way; it seemed he and Fran had a preference for spending time on the sky continent when they were not otherwise occupied with general pirating. Lunch, meat and vegetable skewers purchased from a street stall, was eaten as they walked.

Basch found himself quietly enjoying it all. His previous time in Bhujerba had been marred by his mission - first settling matters with Ondore, and then, Ashe flying off to find her birthright nearly by the sheer force of her own will - but he still remembered the almost painfully intense feeling of joy that he’d been able to go anywhere again unfettered. It was good, in spite of the methods used, to be back as a free man once more in less troubled times.

They eventually arrived at a small, discrete inn on Cloudborne Row and separated upon Balthier’s insistence that he attempt to go and wash off the smell of Balfonheim’s fish. Basch hadn’t noticed the scent himself, and Fran simply snorted in response, but they both knew how particular Balthier could be about these things. With a nod of thanks to them both, Basch took a key from the inn’s clerk and set off to find his own room.

It was adequately sized and simply furnished, a pleasant lack of grandeur after so much time spent in the Archadian palace, with a small bathing room and a large window overlooking one of the city’s many marketplaces. He dropped his pack on the lone chair in the room and rested his longsword on the table beside it, stripped off his tunic and sandals and headed into the bathing room. He was no Balthier, but a quick wash after the long airship ride and dusty walk here sounded like a good idea.

Later, washed, dried off and dressed again, he surveyed his room’s small space and felt unsure of what to do next. Getting here had been one thing, he’d had company and the flight itself to distract him. Now, in the moment, five days away from Archades stretched before him like an eternity after months of endless work.

“Something interesting about the bed?”

He turned to see Balthier and Fran at his room’s entrance. Balthier lounged against the doorframe. He had changed his clothes, and only the slight dampness of his hair suggested that he’d washed. Fran stood with her longbow slung over her shoulder.

“Are we leaving again?” Basch said in surprise. He moved toward his longsword.

“No.” Fran stopped him. “I go on my own plans. You are free to do whatever you choose.”

“‘Tis the freedom that’s giving me pause.”

“Then stay with Balthier for now - you two have much to catch up on. But do not let him do all the talking. He should be old enough to know better.” A flash of a smile, a nod to them both, and then she was gone.

“...You never answered my question,” Balthier pointed out in her absence. He seemed to have decided to conveniently ignore Fran’s parting shot. “Or does it not match up to that four-poster behemoth of yours in Archades?”

That won a snort of amusement from Basch. “My feelings on my regular accommodations have not changed since last we spoke of it. That ‘behemoth’, as you say, is still over large and too comfortable for me to bear.” It had taken him months to get used to sleeping on his Archadian bed. Larsa had refused to give him plainer quarters.

“An Archadian, suggesting restraint? Perish the thought.”

“I’m no Archadian, Balthier.”

“Obviously, or you really _would_ be complaining about the bedding here.”

Basch shrugged. “I’ve not had the chance to test it, but I’m sure it will suit my purposes just fine.”

“Oh, Captain.” Balthier shook his head in mock-disappointment. “‘Test the bed’ - really? Makes it _too_ easy for me.”

“...Ah -” Basch coughed to cover up his hesitation, momentarily thrown off guard. “Balthier -”

“Aye?” And when had Balthier crossed the distance to step in front of him? They were too similar in height for Balthier to look up at him through lowered lashes, but Basch had no doubt that the man - with his impeccable sense for the dramatic - would have done so now if possible. Certainly the smirk playing on his lips had much the same effect on Basch.

“I think you’re out of practice, Captain.”

Well, he couldn’t deny that. It _had_ been a year.

“My usual company doesn’t exactly find it proper to point out my accidental innuendos,” he said with a small smile. “Nor am I in the habit of making any around them.”

“A shame. They’re missing out on seeing you stumble through a sense of humor.”

Basch thought about making some small joke around Zargabaath and tried not to wince instinctively at the idea. “Perhaps ‘tis for the better. I doubt they’d appreciate it, in any case.”

“Perhaps,” Balthier agreed. “Some things are more satisfying when kept private, hm?” He moved closer yet again, and Basch’s attention was briefly caught by the gleam of gold embroidery on his vest, the sunlight streaming through the window and hitting his green eyes just so. It was always so _easy_ to be distracted by Balthier.

There was a moment of hesitation, Balthier waiting to see if Basch would step back, before he shrugged and tilted his head to kiss Basch.

Basch’s first, inane thought was that Balthier’s lips were more chapped than he’d expected; then he pushed that aside to focus on reciprocating. Hands slid up his neck to run fingers through his close-cropped hair, the sensation startling a small noise of pleasure from him before he could suppress it, and Balthier’s lips pulled into a smile against his at the response.

He would have kissed Balthier longer, would have stood there and kissed him all day if that was what Balthier wanted, but a chance flick of his eyes noted the room’s door left wide open, and regretfully, he drew himself back.  

“Something else you require practice on?” Balthier murmured.

Basch shook his head at him in amusement. Did the man have a line for everything? “You left the door open,” he said.

“Oh?” Balthier turned. “So I did,” he said. “Shall I close it now, then?”

 _Now?_ Basch knew he would never be as skilled as any real Archadian with double entendres, but even he could understand what Balthier was suggesting. And yet, why _not_ now? He certainly had no other purpose for the day. “You move as fast as ever, pirate,” he said, half-laughing.

“One has to, in my line of work.” Balthier was smiling cheekily, but he waited until Basch gestured in acquiescence before moving to close the door. This time it was Basch who kissed him when he returned, pulling him closer with one hand around his slim waist and running his fingers over the fine embroidery of Balthier’s vest. The softness of the fabric only made him want to take it off and touch Balthier’s skin instead.

“May I remove these?” he asked when they separated for air. He fumbled at the hooks in the back. His own Judge Magister armor was complicated, but he’d never felt quite so clumsy as when he tried to deal with Balthier’s clothes.

Balthier’s hands on his own stilled him. “If you wanted a show, you only had to ask,” Balthier drawled. He pushed Basch until he fell back onto the bed and stood in between his spread knees, close enough for Basch to take him all in and yet still reach out to touch him. He quickly pulled off his own tunic, then watched as Balthier bent his arms behind him to take off the vest, head bent in concentration, long lashes sweeping over his cheeks.

One last hook, and then Balthier dropped the vest unceremoniously beside him and moved onto his shirt, loosening his cuffs and unlacing the collar so sedately that Basch’s fingers twitched on the bed. When he finally pulled the shirt up over his head, Basch didn’t wait until it was completely removed, reaching forward to splay his hands over the revealed expanse of tanned skin and kiss Balthier’s stomach. There was no small amount of satisfaction to feel Balthier shudder in surprise against him.

“Impatient, Captain?” he teased, but there was a slight breathlessness to his voice. He tossed his shirt away and unbuckled his belt, and Basch couldn’t help but be amused at how he had to wriggle a little to push down his pants. The man always did insist on wear the tightest clothing.

His hands moved to Balthier’s sides, to his back, and then dipped underneath the waistband of his underclothes, tugging him closer by the curves of his ass until he almost fell on top of Basch with a laugh. A quick readjustment of limbs, and he kneeled over Basch’s lap, gripping his shoulders and panting softly as Basch licked and pressed lazy kisses down his body. Balthier’s muscles tensed whenever he moved over a particularly sensitive spot, taking the time to trail his tongue over old and new scars that crossed his warm skin, and by the time he reached below his stomach, he could feel Balthier grow hard beneath his underclothes.

A hand to his side of his face stopped him before he could go any further, and he looked up. Balthier’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his cheeks flushed slightly; when he saw Basch’s eyes on him, he exhaled before regaining control over himself.

“Seems a shame for me to be the only one undressed,” he said lightly.

“But you are not yet,” Basch pointed out, and he could not resist palming Balthier’s erection through his underclothes, enjoying the hiss of air through Balthier’s lips and the involuntary jerk of his hips before he pushed Basch away.

“There’s salve in my pants,” he said by way of explanation as he untangled himself, pulled his underclothes off with considerable less ceremony than the rest of his outfit, and bent down to sort through his pants. Basch moved back on the bed to remove the rest of his clothing, and then Balthier was top of him again, wriggling down back into his lap and giving him a quick, hard kiss before rubbing the salve over his fingers and taking both their cocks in hand. Basch dropped his head with a groan at the sensation; Balthier’s hands, in contrast to all his finery, were every bit as calloused as Basch’s, and the feeling of them dragging roughly over his cock sent a wave of heat through his body.

This might be the upside to seeing Balthier so rarely, he thought through his daze - it made everything feel that much more intense when they _did_ have the time to meet like this. They had been together often enough to know what the other liked, and Balthier set a fast pace now, jerking down hard and twisting his hand slightly on the pull, swiping his thumb over the heads of both of their cocks until they were both shuddering; it was not long after that Basch was coming, and Balthier followed him soon as well, muffling his groan against the junction between Basch’s neck and shoulder. Evidently Basch was not the only one for whom it had been a while.

A beat as their breaths eventually slowed down, and then Basch murmured, eyes still closed from when he’d still squeezed them shut as he came, “Perhaps this could have been planned before we both washed.”

“Two jokes in under an hour,” Balthier mumbled. “You begin to set a new record.” Lazily, he turned and kissed Basch’s neck, ignoring the mess settling between their legs and on their stomachs. Basch was content to let him. He rarely had the time to linger on the few occasions he did come by Archades, and although Basch sometimes wanted to extend an invitation for him to visit more often, he understood the sour memories the city still held for Balthier. He would not force that onto Balthier for the sake of a few more moments of his company.

So he simply enjoyed the pleasure of skin to skin contact now, at least until Balthier’s light kisses began to turn into something more lascivious against his skin.

“I’m afraid you forget my age and overestimate my abilities,” he said mildly.

Balthier laughed, but he untangled himself and retrieved a handful of towels from Basch’s bathing room to wipe both of them down. Then, almost abruptly, he said, “You remember the last time we visited?”

Basch searched back through his memories and came across it. “Aye,” he said. Balthier and Fran had stopped in the city to restock and check over the _Strahl_ before they were off to Balfonheim. Balthier had shown up at his private chambers with dinner in hand - the man somehow always managed to find a way through the palace, and he always remembered Basch’s forgetfulness when it came to food when he was working - they had eaten, and Balthier had brought him off. His way of saying goodbye, apparently. Basch had reciprocated, and after, they talked briefly, Balthier tight-lipped as ever about the details of his and Fran’s plans, but optimistic at his prospects. He’d departed after a few hours in keeping with the _Strahl’s_ tight schedule.

That was the way of it between them, something that had began over the course of their journey together. He hadn’t known what to expect once the fighting was over and he was a different man entirely; had not even heard from Balthier while he and Fran recovered from their narrow escape from the _Bahamut_. But then Balthier showed up in Archades one day and simply picked up where they’d left off, with little comment on Basch’s new position except that his new armor was much harder to remove than before, and that he probably made for a terrible Judge. It had been - it still _was_ \- gratifying, to be with someone who steadfastly saw him as Basch and not a clumsy imitation of a dead man. Balthier had stopped by a handful of times over the years since then.

“Well, hardly a _visit_ ,” he amended now. “We had to be in Balfonheim by first light. But I’ve no such obligations this time.”

A quirk of his lips, that same confident look as always, but there was something softer around its edges; it was a smile Basch rarely saw and so valued all the more when he did. “We’ll remain for the full length of your rest here,” he said now, tossing the towels aside and leaning in to kiss up the side of Basch’s jawline. His long, clever fingers carded through Basch’s hair and stroked down the closely shorn back. And then, close by Basch’s ear, low but not quite soft, “So there will be time enough that you need not worry about any estimation of your stamina.”

“We seem to have differing ideas of the meaning of ‘rest’,” Basch said, but he put his hands on Balthier’s waist again.

“Is that a protest I hear, Captain?”

“None whatsoever.”

Balthier smiled in satisfaction and leaned back in. Time passed by pleasantly.

Much later into the night, Basch half-woke to the sound of Balthier slipping out from under the covers beside him. Low voices by the door, a man and a woman conversing - Fran? He was still too deep, too comfortable in his sleep to open his eyes and check. An indeterminable amount of time passed, and then the sound of the door clicking shut, feet padding softly across the floor, a warm body sliding back into bed.

Basch slept on.

**    

He was alone when he woke up, but Balthier had left a note on the table, weighted down by his longsword. _Fran’s plans have deigned to involve me for the day_ , it read in his slanted scrawl. _Do as you wish._

Basch set the note down thoughtfully.

His first thought was that he’d brought a sheaf of case documents to look over, before he’d known why Larsa had really sent him here. His second, guiltier thought was that Balthier and Fran would probably find some way to skewer him if he did work and they found out. Then they’d report back to Larsa, and he’d skewer Basch again, albeit in a much more gentle fashion.

He looked out the window. It was another clear summer’s day in Bhujerba, and he’d hardly seen the city in its entirety yesterday. It would be good to take another chance to stretch his legs, he decided - and, with a wry smile as he moved away from the window, probably the rest of him as well after last night. But this at least was a pleasant ache.

He washed and dressed, then stepped out of the inn and onto the already busy street. The armory was just a short walk away, a good enough place to start as any. A man of his position in Archades had no need for foreign weaponry, not when the Empire always ensured that its Judge Magisters were equipped with the finest Archadian steel, but nevertheless, he enjoyed examining the blades out on display. Sometimes he regretted his current position. Not for what his brother had asked of him, but simply because there were times when he missed the action of the soldiering life: as Gabranth, he remained as fierce with his swords as ever, but there was rarely cause to use his weapons outside of the training grounds.

All that meant was that the peace was _working_ , he reminded himself, and that, of course, did give him no small amount of joy. Still, he usually couldn’t even get away to the nearby uplands to practice in real combat against the monsters there. It frustrated him - he did not like to to lose his edge, not while Larsa was still so young.

But this wasn’t the time for such thoughts. With a twinge of regret, Basch stepped away from inspecting a particularly beautiful sword underneath a glass case and decided it was time to move on. He would go to the less specialized shops, where perhaps he could find a few baubles to bring back to Archades as souvenirs. The idea of dry Zargabaath accepting a gift from him upon his return made him chuckle under his breath.

The day passed as he enjoyed the sheer novelty of being outside with no obligations or armor to burden him. He ate fresh flatbread and, after careful consideration, bought a small gift for his chief aide in the Bureau. Her help had become invaluable to him, and over the years they had developed something approaching a professional friendship. He thought she would appreciate the beautiful silks of Bhujerba.

Satisfied with his purchases, he made his way back to Cloudborne Row. A flash of familiar white caught his eye on the way - he turned, and there was Fran sitting at one of the tables outside the Cloudborne, Balthier beside her, sipping something from a cup. He was startled to see they both looked worse for the wear.

“There you are,” Balthier said when he saw Basch hurrying towards them, as if they’d planned this all along. “We’ve been waiting for your return.”

“Are you well? What happened?” He could see no visible injuries, but they were covered in dirt and grime, and Fran looked drained. And the stench of something rotting hanging over them was sharp enough to sting Basch’s nostrils.

“Nothing a few strong potions didn’t fix, although I can’t say the same for my clothes.” Balthier grimaced. “Sit down, Captain. Care for a drink? We need to talk, I’m afraid.”

“We need you to do more than just talk,” Fran said.

“I’ll get to that,” Balthier said. He waited until Basch was seated, offered him the cup, and then shrugged and took another sip when Basch declined.

After a pause, he said, “Apologies are in order, Captain. We, ah, may not have been entirely honest about our reasons for taking you here to Bhujerba.”

“You came here for some quarry,” Basch said. He found that he wasn’t altogether surprised. “Not for rest after all.”

“Yes, and no.” Balthier looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

Beside him, Fran tsked. “This will not make sense. Tell it to him from the beginning.” She turned to Basch. “You understand we do not often share our plans because of your position? It would not do for a man of the law to be so aware of sky pirates.”

“Aye, I understand.”

“We would ask for your aid. ‘Tis only fair then that we tell you the story in full.”

“Not much of a story to tell,” Balthier said. “Surely you’re aware that manufacted nethicite is still occasionally in circulation despite our esteemed Emperor’s decree some years ago.”

Basch nodded. The Empire was much too large for change to happen everywhere immediately. Larsa’s will was strong indeed, but even that was not enough to fix everything Vayne and Cid had wrought in so short a time.

“Retrieval and disposal systems are in place now, of course, but nothing’s perfect. Things fall through the cracks. And sometimes on those occasions when the official arm of the Empire can’t quite reach, our dear Lord Larsa sees fit to employ those who can be more discreet, if perhaps not quite as _upstanding_ as Archadia’s Judges.” He raised an eyebrow at Basch, a silent _do you see?_

“Larsa asks you to steal manufacted nethicite?”

“Not often, mind you. It wouldn’t do for our reputations to be regularly doing favors for the Emperor, even if it is for thievery. And the Emperor can’t exactly be found consorting so closely with sky pirates.”

A frown as Basch considered this. “He has never informed me -”

Balthier said quickly, “I shouldn’t think he’s shared this with anyone - you, especially. But Larsa is true Archadian nobility through and through, you see.” He gave a thin-lipped smile, a reminder that he knew how that system worked all too well. “He simply directs his Solidor drive to better purpose than war. So we retrieve the stones for him, on occasion, and he rewards us handsomely for our troubles; everyone else is none the wiser and another piece of dangerous manufacted nethicite is destroyed. A happy enough system.”

Basch did not reply immediately, his mind swirling at the revelation. _You, especially_ had stung, but the truth behind the words made sense. The Emperor conducting business behind closed doors was one thing, but a Judge Magister found in connection with stealing nethicite - no matter how good they claimed the cause to be - was too risky for the current political climate, where transparency in the law was so important. It seemed Larsa was learning the necessities of kingship fast, and the realization made him both proud and melancholic for the youth. Finally, he said, “This is what you’ve come here to do?”

“Nethicite was tracked to Balfonheim,” Fran said. “A pirate ship there profited from its sales. Retrieving the cache took longer than expected, but we were ultimately successful. But … we found that we had missed something. The cache had been split in two, a smaller number of stones entrusted to an accomplice. The man fled here.”

“The plan _was_ to have Fran catch him off guard and retrieve the stones on her own while you rested,” Balthier said. “But the fool panicked and took flight into the Lhusu Mines.” That explained the state of their clothes. “She asked me to accompany her today, but he went in deeper than we expected. With so many of the magicite veins here running low, there are entire shafts that are completely abandoned and overrun by monsters. We encountered a truly disgusting number of Malboros.” And _that_ explained the smell.

“So you are requesting my aid in finding him within the mines.”

“And in taking back the nethicite. And this man - if he’s even still alive at this point, the poor bastard - he can’t be taken in and dealt with officially, you understand. That would bring our own involvement to light.”

Basch nodded slowly. He understood well enough now. A quiet affair, handled outside of the law, so that Larsa would not have to ruffle any feathers by commanding Archadian soldiers to territories that had good reason to still distrust the Empire. “But why then this charade?” he asked. “Would it not have been simpler for the two of you to come here alone, unburdened by the task of keeping me unaware?”

“You misunderstand,” Balthier snapped. There was an edge to his tone that caught Basch by surprise. “Our concern was genuine enough. We could have taken you anywhere, anytime - but why not kill two birds with one stone?” He emptied his cup and stared down the street moodily. Evidently he had nothing more to say on the matter.

“Will you do this for us?” Fran asked. She looked at Basch in earnest. “We meant it when we said you had the freedom to do as you choose. If you would rather not aid two sky pirates, we will understand.”

“If I chose not to aid two _friends_ , then I would judge myself poorly indeed,” Basch said with a shake of his head at Fran’s words. “And lest you forget - Gabranth is not here, as Lord Larsa so firmly expressed to me before my departure. I do not sit before you as a Judge Magister, merely an old soldier who can still wield a sword.”

That won a slow, rare smile from Fran, and she reached out and touched his arm briefly in gratitude. “And a good man,” she said. Before Basch could reply in embarrassment, she stood in a smooth motion that belied her weariness and gestured that they should return to the inn to make preparations.

Once inside, she separated from the two men with a brief parting, but before Basch could open the door to his own room, a hand gripped his wrist and turned him to face Balthier. The man’s face had smoothed considerably during their short walk back, but his eyes were far too serious to match the rest of his expression of genial disinterest.

“You needn’t always be so very noble,” he said. “I’d have thought living in Archades would have helped force that out of your nature.”

“...Have I caused offense in some way?” Basch asked cautiously, all too aware of Balthier’s mercurial temperament. Especially when it came to derailed plans of his. “Balthier, I truly would like to help -”

“And I would like if you ever wished for more than that,” Balthier snapped, and then instantly recoiled, yanking his hand off Basch’s wrist. A twitch of frustration, more at his own lapse in temper, before his face relaxed once more. This time his expression appeared even more glasslike than before. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Perhaps not.” Basch reached out, and when Balthier made no motion to step back, took his hands in Basch’s own. They were two very different men, he thought ruefully, but he had known that all along, and it had never changed his opinion of Balthier. “But I will not fault you for saying it. Yet would you rather have me sit back, idle, whilst you two ventured back into the mines for the sake of Larsa’s peace? I did not see you acting in such a manner when Fran came to you today in spite of your plans. There is no shame in it for me. I would not feel so even if you scolded me.”

“And besides,” he added, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “perhaps I’ve not been as noble as you would think.” When Balthier raised an eyebrow at him in confusion, he smiled. “I said I was an old soldier with a sword, but work of late has given me little opportunity to even take my blade out of its sheath. And along comes a chance to test my abilities once more, alongside the two of you? Truly that is welcome change to me. I mean it, Balthier. I am happy to accompany you two on your mission - it will be as much of a vacation to me as the rest of it.”

He let Balthier examine him, as if searching for some sign that he was lying for Balthier’s sake, until at last Balthier’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a huff of laughter.

“I’ve gone about this the wrong way,” he said. He shook his hands free from Basch’s, ran one through his hair. “It would be poor manners indeed to quarrel with you right after you agreed to lend your aid. Simpler just to apologize for not telling you the whole of the truth until our hand was forced.”

“It seems you rarely prefer to take the simple route,” Basch said.

Balthier regarded him again for another moment, and then said, tone thoughtful, “Indeed not.” A beat. “And where would be the fun in that? But now that we’ve gone about it in an completely roundabout manner - my apologies. I assure you, we didn’t intend for you to get dragged into our affairs.”

“Aye, I know,” Basch said. “It matters not. I’m grateful for the time away, and for the two of you thinking of me.” He looked at Balthier in earnest. “You have my thanks, Balthier.”

Balthier’s eyes darkened and he said, voice low, “I would have more than that.” For a second then, Basch wanted nothing more than to kiss him, substituting action for where his words could not always reach, but then Balthier shook first his head and then his hands in a show of disgust, and stepped back. “But another time. When I am not standing here stinking to the rafters of Malboro breath. This will be the second time I’ve washed so extensively since we arrived, and likely we’ll encounter more of the creatures tomorrow.”

Basch laughed and opened the door to his room. “Another time,” he agreed. “I will see you in the morning then.”

“Aye.” With a lazy wave, Balthier headed down the corridor, leaving Basch to mull over their exchange alone.

**

“Some of the nethicite is unstable,” Fran explained. She’d secured them entry into the mines by bribing an overseer the day before. “The Mist leaks from it and leaves a trail.” As if to demonstrate, she stopped to raise her head and sniff the air. “This way. ‘Tis faint, but I can track it.”

“Leaking Mist will probably summon all manner of hungry beasts to this fool,” Balthier grumbled as he followed Fran. He’d foregone his pistol for a long, bladed spear, saying the gun was too loud and likely to attract even more monsters, as well as possibly alert their quarry. “Here’s hoping we won’t have to deal with them.”

“A task made easier by aid,” Fran said with a nod to Basch.

It was not light work, tracking this man. Years of excavation in the ancient mines had left a staggering amount of abandoned, twisting tunnels, and Fran sometimes lost the trail and was forced to backtrack through dark caverns lit now only by their own torches and the faintest traces of magicite lines in the walls. Without the palings to ward them off, the areas were full of monsters. The trio ran from a good number of them, intent on preserving their energy, but sometimes they had no choice but to fight. Basch lost track of how many steelings Fran set alight with her powerful fire spells. It was reminiscent of their journey together, and they quickly fell into familiar routines: Basch and now Balthier in the thick of things, cutting down monsters with sword and spear, while Fran stood in the back and took careful aim with her longbow and magic.

Eventually, they made it to one of the mines’ spans. This deep into the earth of the skycontinent, the span opened up and allowed them a clear view of the sky on either side – and of the long drop below should they fall. Still, the winds provided a welcome respite from the stale air of the mine shafts. Fran stopped and bent down to examine a stain on the ground. She made a face.

“Hume blood,” she said. “'Tis recent enough.”

Balthier grimaced. “Damn. It would be just our luck, if some beast killed him and then made off with the stones. Tell me we’re getting close.”

Fran tested the air. “Aye. The scent is much stronger down this span. Not even the winds can quite blow it away.” She rose and nudged Balthier as she passed him. “Always, you assume the worse.”

“Keeps me from being disappointed,” he quipped.

They followed Fran down the span and into the next transit way, taking down a number of undead along the way, until she came to an abrupt halt. A lesser man might have crashed into her back, but Balthier, familiar with her movements after years of partnership, immediately paused and pressed a hand to Basch’s chest to stop him as well.

“Is he here?” he said quietly.

“In the next cavern. The Mist is coming off like waves. And I can smell it hanging in the air, Hume fear, sweat – and blood. But…” Fran hesitated, head tilting as she sniffed. “He is not alone. I sense monsters as well. We go prepared.”

Basch’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Will you be alright?” he asked. “The Mist -”

“You need not worry,” she promised him. “This amount of Mist is not strong enough to affect me.” She checked the arrows left in her quiver and waited until the two men gave her nods to show they were ready before proceeding.  

They crept up to the turn in the transit way and peered into the cavern ahead. Basch felt no real surprise at what he saw, only a sense of resignation – the body of a man lay on the ground, maimed and bloody, and a horde of monsters swarmed over his corpse, drawn to the spilling Mist. A sword was scattered some distance away, along with a trail of dead monsters. It seemed he’d been able to defend himself, but not for long enough.  

“I see Malboros, more undead, Slaven,” Fran murmured. “But the nethicite is there. We will have to fight.”

“You see? No disappointment over the inevitable now,” Balthier said lightly. Easy enough to assume he was completely at ease with the situation, if not for the way he visibly relaxed his shoulders. “Just like old times, eh, Captain?”

Basch gave a brief smile as he adjusted his grip on his sword. “Aye, just like old times,” he agreed.

They burst into the cavern in a flash of steel and light. Fran didn’t even bother with her bow; she simply summoned as much white magick as possible and threw it at the horde of undead. They crumpled under her spell as if the puppet strings binding them to their twisted existences in this world had finally been cut, their empty mouths emitting silent screams of rage as their bones disintegrated in white. And before the spell’s flash had faded, Basch was taking advantage of the confusion to hack away at the thick skin of a huge Slaven’s legs, Balthier behind him using his spear to keep an even distance from approaching Malboros. Basch spared no thought when the Slaven finally collapsed, had no time to think. He simply aimed one final cut across its exposed neck and moved onto the next foe.

Again and again, they shifted unspoken into familiar movements - how many times had they done this on their journey, working together, until it had almost felt routine? Basch remembered blocking scratches and bites from Vaan and Penelo when they were caught unawares, remembered Ashe covering for Fran in a relentless fury of sword and shield as she prepared her strongest healing spell. And Balthier, for all his complaints, had never shied away from a rough battle with the group, seemed to relish the test of his skills when the odds were stacked against them. Certainly he had no hesitation about him now as he sliced through Malboro tentacles and threw out fire spells when he had the chance.

The wave of monsters ebbed, and then flowed again as more undead seemingly sprouted from their shallow graves in the earth. Fran made a noise of annoyance at the sight. She had pulled out a dagger and was fighting with magick in one hand and blade in the other. Basch envied her dexterity.

“We’ve no need to be at this all day,” she said. “Balthier - can you find the nethicite? Throw them to me when you have them.”

Balthier didn’t even bother with a quip, just nodded and said, “Cover me.” He tossed his spear at her, and Fran, understanding immediately, caught it and threw back her dagger. With that and an old shield dropped by one of the undead as it faded, Balthier darted into the fray towards the man’s corpse, pushing back monsters with a sudden show of strength.

“When he has them, we run,” Fran said. “I will cast one last spell with the nethicite’s power to stop them.” Basch grunted in confirmation; by now, they were fighting almost back to back.

He saw Balthier extract a leather pouch from the corpse, saw the Malboro slither close to him. Too late, he realized Balthier’s attention had been diverted - “Balthier - !” he yelled, but the Malboro had already trapped him in a full paralysis with its noxious fumes. _Damn_. There was no time to find a restorative -

Fran cursed.  “Can you carry him?” she called out. “Curing him will have to wait until we are clear.”

Basch didn’t hesitate; he cut the Malboro back, tossed the leather pouch to Fran and lifted Balthier up in both arms. “And the man?” he said.

Fran didn’t spare the corpse a glance. “Leave him - we have what we came for.”

Basch nodded and ran out the cavern. Behind him, Fran took the nethicite in hand and tugged at the power within them to let loose a truly impressive combination of fire and lightning across the mass of monsters. Even focused as he was on the path ahead, Basch could feel the force from the ensuing explosion searing hot across the back of his neck. Then Fran was beside him, ahead of him, and they were both running out of the transit way and across the span.

He didn’t know how long he followed Fran through the tunnels. Balthier in his arms was no lightweight, but Basch was accustomed to heavy armor and heavier blades; he could carry him for a while yet. The problem was he usually had little reason to run so quickly nowadays, and his lungs were beginning to protest rather forcefully. Just when he thought he might stumble, incapable of drawing another breath that didn’t feel as though his lungs were not burning, Fran slowed them from their furious dash to a fast walk, until at last she deemed it safe enough to stop. Basch set Balthier down with care, panting heavily.

Fran searched through her pack until she found a Chronos Tear and poured it down Balthier’s throat. Almost instantly, his limbs relaxed from frozen surprise into a more natural rest.

He looked between the two of them, and then said, resigned, “It had to be Malboros.”

“The inn has showers and scented soaps,” Fran said. “Can you walk?”

“I’d rather the good Captain carry me all the way back, if it didn’t look as though he was two gasps away from collapsing himself,” Balthier drawled, but he pushed himself up. “And the inn’s amenities are not the problem here. The problem is that I’ve had reason at all to use them so extensively these past few days. You have the nethicite?”

Basch nodded to Fran, who had tied the pouch to her belt. “We left the man,” he said. More to prove that he could still draw breath than out of any real regret.

“Fine by me.” Balthier gave a dismissive wave. “His entire crew has given us more than their fair share of trouble.”

“But why would he come down here on his own? Surely there are safer places in the city in which to hide.”

Balthier shrugged. “The Cartographer’s Guild here makes extensive maps of the mines. If you can secure one and then bribe one of the miners, then why not? It would be safe enough for a while. And he was a pirate, a fighter - managed to hold his own fairly well, if you recall, for quite some time. But he was no Viera. Couldn’t sense that the nethicite was spilling Mist and calling to the monsters in the area.” He paused. “And speaking of...”

Fran pulled open the pouch and took out a piece. With the Mist’s glow expended, it appeared an ordinary rock. “Now we need not worry about the stones until we deliver them back to Larsa,” she said.

“Well then.” Balthier made a show of adjusting his cuffs and brushing dirt off his pants. “I suppose that settles things rather tidily. Drinks at the Cloudborne when we get out of this godforsaken place? If the old man over here ever manages to catch his breath.”

“You’ll be old one day too,” Basch said.

“Not soon enough,” Fran said, and Basch threw his head back and laughed at the affronted look on Balthier’s face.

**

The Cloudborne was as busy as ever, but they managed to find a private enough table in the back. Balthier offered to take the first round of drinks and departed for the bar. Basch collapsed into a seat, happy to do nothing else but sit for a while and let the other customers’ laughter and chatter wash over him. The day’s activities were catching up with him now that the adrenaline had worn off.

“You look tired.” Fran took a seat beside him. “Yet still better than when we first reunited in Archades.”

“...Aye,” Basch admitted. He tapped his fingers against the worn wood of the table. “Rarely do I get the chance to make use of my sword like that nowadays. It was tiring, but it was … good. I would never wish to see war again, but ... I do miss fighting for the sake of honing one’s skills, sometimes. And it has been good to see you two again after so long.”

“A man of your standing should not have any difficulties in making time to go train as you see fit.”

“There is always work to be done.” Basch sighed. “It would be frivolous -”

“That is only an excuse,” Fran interrupted. “Basch. Your brother would not want you to work yourself to death for the sake of another.”

Basch did not reply. It was impossible to deny such a thing in the face of Fran’s serene incisiveness, and yet he didn’t feel quite ready to admit she was right. Instead, he looked across the tavern and found his attention drawn to Balthier at the bar. In spite of all the grime from the mines, he still cut an elegant figure as he leaned against the counter and bantered with the barkeeper over their drinks, hands gesticulating in graceful motions, mouth moving fast. No doubt he was spouting some line in a completely shameless display of his own ego right now. Basch could not help but smile looking at him.

“You should ask him.”

He blinked at the seeming non sequitur and turned back to Fran. “Beg pardon?”

“Balthier. I know what you have been wishing to ask him. You should.” She pierced him with a knowing look. “Did you not say you benefited from our company just now?”

“Fran -”

“You do not have the excuse of his youth, Basch. In truth he is no longer a child either, for all that I jest. And I think,” she said, slowly, words weighted with meaning, “that he has grown out of running by now.”

Basch was saved from answering by Balthier returning with three tankards. Fran touched his hand briefly.

“It is not so selfish a thing simply to ask,” she said, and then turned to Balthier and spoke nothing more of it for the remainder of their time there.  

**

The late afternoon bled into evening and served mostly to demonstrate that Balthier still retained his truly frightening tolerance for alcohol. Basch made only a token attempt to keep up at his insistence, and then immediately concluded that it was well past his time to even try for long. Fran, sensible as ever, wisely stuck to her own pace.

At some point they’d returned to the inn, although Basch could not quite recall the details of the walk. Nor could he remember exactly how he’d managed to find his own room through the fog induced by exhaustion and heightened by alcohol. His body hadn’t exactly been happy about leaving his seat at the Cloudborne, and it protested all over again when he began stripping off his clothes, but as tired as he was, he was hardly about to sleep covered in dirt and dried sweat when the inn offered, as Fran had said, showers and scented soaps.

There was a knock on his door. Before he even had time to react, Balthier sauntered in, stripped down to a loose undershirt and pants, with a pile of towels under one arm. It seemed unfair that he’d drunk enough to knock out several large Rocktoises, and yet outwardly still appeared perfectly composed. Not for the first time, Basch wondered if the man ever practiced in front of a mirror.

“That door was locked,” he observed now, though there was no real rebuke in his voice.

Balthier raised an eyebrow as if to say _so what?_

“I thought I should come make sure you didn’t fall asleep and take a slip in the bathing room after you showed your age earlier,” he said. “There’s room for two in here, isn’t there?”

Basch sighed. Not that he didn’t appreciate the gesture, even if Balthier had to couch it in a jibe, but … “I haven’t the energy or mind for conversation,” he warned.

“Then we won’t talk. I happen to excel in silence when I’ve need to, or else Fran would have expelled me from my own ship years ago.”

So somehow it had ended up like this, Basch sitting on a stool in the bathing room feeling bemused, while Balthier worked soap up into a lather and rubbed it into his hair behind him. He hadn’t exactly intended for Balthier to wash him down. He hadn’t even expected Balthier to offer to do such a thing. Weary as he was, he was still perfectly capable of cleaning himself. But Balthier had simply set the water to hot and then taken the soaps and sponges and gestured for Basch to sit down until he’d complied. It felt a little surreal.

Then Balthier scratched down his scalp on both sides, just rough enough, and Basch sighed in pleasure at the sensation. _That_ felt real enough, and he found that he could hardly bring himself to complain right now. If Balthier had an ulterior motive for all of this, it would have to wait until morning.

“Not so bad then?” Balthier murmured.

“I thought you’d promised silence.”

“Ah, but you’re no Fran. You wouldn’t _actually_ throw me out.”

“Do not test me, pirate.”

Balthier chuckled at Basch’s obvious front, but he returned to silence for a while as he worked the lather through Basch’s hair. Only a quiet, “Close your eyes,” as warning before he took the shower nozzle and ran hot water to rinse off the soap, and then nothing again but the sound of water splashing over the the floor tiles, the gurgle as it slid down the drain at the center of the room.

There was the _clink, clink_ of glass - Balthier going through the vials of soaps, Basch guessed with his eyes still closed. He was muttering, fast and soft enough that Basch couldn’t quite make out words through his haze. But he thought he knew.

“It matters not which scent you pick, Balthier.”

The sounds stilled. “But why wash with a soap you dislike?” Balthier inquired. “If you’re going to do a job at all…”

Basch’s growl was split between amusement and annoyance. “I had _intended_ to wash quickly,” he said. He stood and turned to take a sponge from the shelf of amenities, impatient.

Balthier’s hand stopped him and pulled the sponge out of his grasp. “Very _well_ then,” he said in mock offense. “In that case, if you would let me…”

He selected a vial at random and uncapped it. A light floral scent filled the room and mixed with the steam, soft and sweet but not at all overpowering. It was agreeable enough.

Basch let him spread the soap over his shoulders and back before taking the sponge to it, and relaxed again. Balthier seemed to have taken his words to heart: he went about things quickly now, movements efficient as he scrubbed down Basch’s back and arms, the texture of the sponge leaving a pleasant burn across Basch’s skin. There were no lingering touches, no teasing comments as Basch had expected; Balthier simply scrubbed and then rinsed off without a word. Even when Basch squirmed slightly as the sponge brushed against his side, he only raised an eyebrow in amusement and continued on. In almost no time at all, he finished and was offering a towel to Basch.

“...Thank you,” Basch said, but he hesitated in taking the towel. “But should I not first -”

Balthier shook his head and pushed it into his hands. “I can wash myself. Get out and dry yourself before you really do fall over. I’ll be a while yet.”

Basch’s fingers curled around the soft fabric. “And when you are done?” he said. They hadn’t had the chance for any real conversation since Balthier’s outburst the previous night. This was hardly the right time for it either, both of them naked in a bathing room and Basch tired and still half-drunk (he suspected Balthier was drunk too; the man simply hid it too well), but surely Balthier had intended for this brief interlude to mean something.

Balthier regarded him for a moment. Some unidentifiable emotion flickered dark and brief through his eyes.

“I didn’t carry a man and run a marathon through the mines, but I _am_ tired, believe it or not,” he said at last. “Possibly I may find myself too worn out to return to my own room after finishing here.”

That was enough of an answer, perfectly Balthier, and Basch knew the warmth that he now felt had nothing to do with the steam from the water. He smiled and said, “Then thank you - I appreciated your aid,” and left the bathing room. Seconds later, he heard the water start to run again from inside.

And then suddenly it was all he could do to quickly dry himself off and put on a clean change of underclothes before falling onto the bed. His last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was that perhaps Fran truly had been right.  

**

Basch woke late in the day to aching legs, less of a hangover than he’d expected, and Balthier sound asleep beside him. A series of slow stretches helped ease the tension in his muscles and then, hesitant to wake Balthier when the man was usually such a light sleeper, he left to find something for them to eat.

By the time he returned, Balthier had roused himself, although he hadn’t bothered to dress. “Breakfast in bed?” he said when he saw the food Basch carried with him. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Hardly breakfast anymore, I’m afraid,” Basch said. “And you - is the concept of a hangover completely foreign to you?”

“I have a reputation to maintain,” Balthier said lightly. “It wouldn’t do for a legendary sky pirate to drink all night and then waste the next day away sick to his stomach.” And as if to prove his words, he set upon the spread Basch had brought back with no small amount of enthusiasm.

“What of your plans for the day?” Basch asked as they ate. “Do you need to speak with Fran about the nethicite?”

“The nethicite? Not at all; that matter is complete until we deliver the stones to Larsa’s hands later.” Balthier sipped at a flask of juice. “Most likely Fran and I will hardly see or even think of each other in these next two days. Even good partners need time apart on occasion.”

Basch nodded in understanding. “And so?”

“I should have thought it obvious, Captain.” He smirked over the lip of his flask. “Unless you have a pressing need to be elsewhere, I’d fully planned on picking up where we’d left off last night.”

That seemed to settle the matter for the both of them rather nicely.

Some time later, when more vigorous activity between the two of them had since subsided into lounging amongst the blankets and enjoying the warm sunlight streaming in through the window, Balthier said, “I never did thank you properly for what you did in the mines.” He’d straddled Basch’s waist, the tips of his fingers splayed across Basch’s chest.

“And what was last night then?” Basch asked, reclined back against the pillows, hands rested on Balthier’s thighs more out of a desire to touch than with any real intent.

“That? Done merely out of concern for a weary old man,” Balthier said in a dismissive tone that contradicted the gentleness in his touch. “Larsa would think poorly of us indeed if we were to deliver you back to the Empire with a cracked head.” He trailed his fingers down Basch’s torso, admiring the reflexive flex and shift of his muscles. “But some things are better said aloud. You have my thanks, Captain.”

“...I would have more than that,” Basch replied. He enjoyed the flicker of uncontained surprise across Balthier’s face before it settled into something coy.

“A demand, from you? That’s rare enough to pique my interest. What then?”

“Not a demand, Balthier. Merely a request. To ask to see you in Archades more often.”

Fingers stilled on his hips, and he continued, “You and Fran are set upon your own paths, and I to mine. But surely there is no need to wait for another year to pass again. I know you have your reasons but...”

He looked up at Balthier, unsure of what he would see, and was almost surprised to find Balthier’s lips pulled back in that rare smile of his.

“I admit, I was expecting something a little more … momentous?” But although his words were mocking, there was no bite to his voice. “Than you requesting that we meet to tumble more often?”

Basch laughed. That was a deflection of sorts, but one that, like Balthier, he could accept. “Put it like that…” He didn’t finish, Balthier leaning down to kiss him into silence, lazy twists of his tongue in Basch’s mouth. Without breaking from him, he shifted until he laid on top of Basch, rolled his hips slowly, and then Basch _did_ pull away from the kiss, inhaling sharply as Balthier’s cock slid against his own.

“I take it -” A groan now, as Balthier rocked against him again, but he pressed on, “I take it - _Balthier -_ this means you’re not against the notion?”

“Not at all,” Balthier said. “You only had to ask.”

He made as if to continue, mouth dipping lower now to one of Basch’s nipples, but Basch stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. His mind was buzzing, almost as though he was drunk again, emotions in a whirl - relief, contentment, anticipation at both the near and distant future.

“Let me catch my breath, pirate. Then, after I return to Archades -?”

“Hmm...” Balthier rolled off him and to his side, propped himself on one elbow as he considered the matter. “We still need to deliver the nethicite to Larsa’s hands. Discreetly, of course. Once that’s handled, Fran and I have obligations at the Phon Coast.” He shrugged. “We don’t keep to a regular schedule. But, should we find ourselves close by …” He paused, and then said, “I assume, knowing you all too well, that you rarely dine outside of the palace grounds?”

Basch blinked at this seeming change of topic. “Work keeps me busy. I do not often have reason to eat elsewhere,” he admitted. “My aides will bring me something in my office when I am there late. Occasionally Lord Larsa requests my presence at his private table.”

“Disappointing, but not at all unexpected. One can only hope you’ve learned something from this little getaway.” Balthier made a face at him. “Very well then, when Fran and I find ourselves in the area, I shall take it upon myself to introduce you to a more varied look at Archadian cuisine. Fortunately at least some of creativity from all the plotting, treachery and double crossing that goes on in the city was long ago channeled into cooking. No guarantees the places I’ve in mind are even still there anymore, but I should be able to acclimatize myself quickly enough.”

Basch broke out into a smile. “Aye, I would like that.”

They spoke briefly of food, Balthier detailing a list of favorite Archadian desserts, Basch describing the dishes he used to eat as a child in Landis, but conversation eventually dwindled and eased into a companionable silence for a while. Basch found it agreeable - he was thankful that Balthier, a man who always enjoyed the cleverness of his own words, also valued exactly when he chose to employ them.

“Tell me, Captain, have you ever given thought to growing this out again?”

...And presumably this was one of those occasions. Fingers carded through his hair, their touch light. He thought he’d never tire of the sensation.

“Mm. The thought has crossed my mind in passing, but…”

“But?”

“But then I remember Zargabaath’s hair the few times he actually removes his helmet, and think that my brother was wise to stick to something this simple.”

Laughter at his back, and Basch’s lips curled into a smile against his pillow. “Zecht must have been the smartest of the lot then,” Balthier said behind him. “We did use to have a running bet in the Akademy which of the standing Judge Magisters looked the worst under their helmets. Back then, my money was always on Ghis, the smug bastard.”

“Still,” he continued, running his knuckles up and down the back of Basch’s head, “It seems a shame. Yours did always grow out so well.”

And Balthier had always been fond of pulling at it, Basch remembered with a shiver. “I suspect you wish for me to grow it out again only for your own benefit.”

“Surely the benefit wouldn’t be mine alone.” Balthier’s voice had dropped to a purr. “Or are you pretending I’m not perfectly aware of your own weakness on the matter?”

In the face of Balthier’s smugness, there didn’t seem to be any other way to respond except to roll over and pin him down and resume where they’d left off earlier.

**

A day later, Balthier and Fran flew the _Strahl_ through a spectacular series of twists and dives on their way out of Bhujerba, as if determined to ensure that Basch had a memorable departure. Basch spared a moment to be grateful for his iron constitution and that he’d grown used to their wilder bouts of flying back on their journey - then Balthier pushed the ship through a sudden burst of speed, and Basch gripped the arms of his seat and resigned himself to a show.

They flew over the wide ocean, the coasts of Balfonheim, and the long stretch of the Cerobbi Steppes, the directional winds carrying them back much faster than when they’d left. As they neared Archadian airspace, Balthier slowed down with one last, regretful twist and then steered the ship at a more sedate pace.

Soon the wild lands gave way to the city: Old Archades, bleak and crumbling, and then, across the long bridge, Archades itself, its ostentatious architecture a marked difference from the time worn stone of Bhujerba. Balthier kept the _Strahl_ high above the rest of the city’s buildings, climbing up until they reached the tallest point in the city - the upper reaches of the palace.

Through the ship’s window, Basch spotted Larsa waiting on his landing dock, a tiny speck of a boy that grew in form as the _Strahl_ neared and then pulled into a perfectly smooth landing. Balthier and Fran made it look effortless, while Basch had seen equally experienced pilots toil over the affair.

“Showoffs,” he said, voice fond.

“I’d never deny that,” Balthier said. He pushed levers and flicked switches, then turned to Basch when he was satisfied the _Strahl_ would remain afloat in place. “Pass on our greetings to Larsa, would you? He’ll have the nethicite on his desk before we leave, although you need not tell him that. Whether you let him know that you’re aware of our affairs is your choice. We’ll make no mention of it should he ask us.”

Basch nodded and secured his pack as he rose from his seat. They were already moving into different spheres, Balthier planning his next adventure, Basch thinking about the workload he would have to catch up on now that he was back.

Fran pushed a button to open the ship’s door and rose to stand beside it upon Basch’s exit. “Be well, Basch,” she said. “Remember that your work is not the only thing your brother would have wished for you.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll do my best. My thanks to you, Fran,” he said. “And to you, Balthier. I’ll let His Majesty know you are both doing well.”

It was a simple, almost abrupt goodbye, but it was the sort all three of them preferred. Basch took one last look before he stepped off the ramp - Fran, face solemn but soft, a warm look in her eyes that Basch knew only a privileged few ever saw, and beside her Balthier, who responded to his glance with raised eyebrows and that familiar, fond smirk upon his lips that was Basch’s favorite - and held onto that image tightly as he walked onto the landing dock. Behind him, the door shut with a hiss, and the _Strahl_ immediately prepared to leave once more. Basch watched as it shot off until it was a mere speck in the distance, then turned back to the palace.

Larsa was waiting for him with an expectant look in his eyes and a cart stacked with his armor beside him.

“Your Majesty,” Basch said, hurrying over and bowing quickly in greeting. “You did not need to bring this here yourself.”

“It was no trouble; one of your aides helped me in organizing it all,” Larsa replied. He waited, hands clasped behind his back, as Basch began strapping down and buckling on the many pieces of his Judge Magister armor with well-practiced efficiency, until patience could hold him back no more. “And how was the mission? I hope you did not find it too taxing.”

Basch chuckled at that and picked up his helmet. He felt remarkably light-hearted; not even the thought of the humidity of Archades, the heat of his office, did anything to dampen his mood. “Not at all, Your Majesty,” he said. “I found it a pleasant change of pace.”

Larsa broke into a wide, genuine smile, full of sweetness and youth. “I’m relieved to hear that. I would welcome any details of your choosing to be shared over a private dinner tonight, if you have the time. And I hope then you will be amenable to taking on similar missions more often in the future?”

A pause, as Basch placed the helmet over his head, and then a smile of his own in return, slower and more reserved, but no less genuine.

“Aye,” Basch said. “I would.”  


End file.
